I’d curled up on the couch with a cup of herbal tea and switched on the eight o’clock news. I tried to listen while Tim hummed through the baby monitor, but it was hard to keep my mind focused. After my appointment with the detective, I’d promised myself to let go of everything related to Mason & McGant, however, this morning I’d remembered that in the email I’d received from Sandra via the Shared drive, there had been a telephone number listed with the Amsterdam area code. It could have been her landline and thus formed a means to get in touch with her husband. Didn’t I owe it to Oliver to put that man to the test? After all, he worked at the same firm and I had to therefore consider the possibility he knew more about what was going on at Mason & McGant. The universe seemed to have thwarted my every move so far, but had now thrown me this last buoy – surely I couldn’t leave this opportunity untouched?
I grabbed the remote control and turned off the television, ignoring the little voice in the back of my head that told me to let the matter rest, opened my laptop where I soon found the number.
I keyed in the numbers on my phone and after ringing three times, the call was answered. “Roderick DelaHaye,” came an unfamiliar voice.
“Good evening, Roderick,” I said in the most polite manner I could muster. “This is Jennifer speaking.” There was an anticipated pause. “Jennifer Smits? Sandra’s friend,” I clarified as if we’d been BFFs, having weekly get-togethers over wine and olives.
“Oh right. Hello Jennifer,” the man said, but it was evident he didn’t recognise my name, which was probably for the best given my plan.
“How have you been doing?” I said in the pitiful, compassionate tone that people had so often used with me since Oliver died.
He gave a big sigh and sounded worn out when he spoke. “Oh well, I’m okay.”
I laid out the next steps of my plan. “Of course you and I never met when Sandra was alive, but I’d love to perhaps visit you, Roderick. We’d become like two peas in a pod, San and I,” I said and winced at this lie. “Maybe I could pop by for a cup of coffee? I’d really like to reminisce about that wonderful lady with someone who shared my fondness for her,” I wheedled and prayed that I wasn’t pushing my luck.
I heard him dither. “Oh right. Perhaps that might be a good idea. Come to think about it, I believe Sandra did speak about you.”
I frowned. Was he just being polite, or could Sandra have mentioned my name to her husband just before she died?
“Wonderful,” I exclaimed in feigned delight.
“Would you like to come over to our place for tea, tomorrow afternoon around three?” he proposed. “I only work mornings at the moment, I can’t concentrate for any longer than that,” he said with an air of gloom.
“I understand, it must be hard,” I responded empathically, but inside, I was rejoicing. “Three o‘clock sounds perfect.”
“What’s the address?”
It remained silent for a moment. “I thought the pair of you were so tight-knit, weren’t you?”
I squeezed my leg hard, while thinking on my feet. “Oh, without a doubt,” I confirmed, lying through my teeth. “We just never met at home.”
He seemed to buy it and gave me an address, just south of the financial heart of Amsterdam.
“See you tomorrow,” I said brightly and hung up.
When I cycled into the street that Roderick had directed me to the following day, I saw a number of immense, ultra-modern residential towers rising up in front of me, with all kinds of café bars, boutiques and eateries at the base. I’d never travelled to this part of Amsterdam before, although it was fairly close to Mason & McGant. One of the towering buildings turned out to contain the number I was looking for and I walked up to the intercom. The glass walls of the building were tinted, concealing the inside, giving the impression of being an extravagant, high-end property. To my surprise, there wasn’t a doorbell per flat, but only one general entrance button for me to press.
The buzzer sounded and a posh voice asked me which resident I required. “Mr DelaHaye,” I answered.
Access was granted after which I heard the door unlock, and automatically and slowly open itself. I entered the building and found myself in an enormous, empty lobby, where a man in a blue uniform seated behind a counter was watching me with piercing eyes.
I walked towards the counter and told him I had an appointment with Mr DelaHaye at number 220.
With a surly and somewhat presumptuous expression on his face, he shoved a list towards me. “Please enter the name and house number you’re visiting, madam.”
This is a lot of palaver just to visit Roderick, I thought to myself. I managed to hold back a cutting response and did what the man had requested and then walked across the shiny, marble floor towards the lift. The metal sign flanking it indicated that number 220 was located on the 23rd floor – the top of the building.
The glass lift whooshed upwards ultra-fast, hardly making a sound, and offered stunning views over the city. When the doors opened, I saw there were two penthouses residing at this highest level.
I rang the bell for 220 and almost instantly the massive, wooden, double front doors swung open.
An older lady in a work uniform stood in the doorway with a straight back. Her thick head of grey hair was tied up with a silver pin.
“Mrs Smits?” she asked. “Mr DelaHaye is expecting you.” The housekeeper gracefully stepped aside to let me in.
The walls of the hall were covered with dark, wooden panels, giving the impression of a hotel. The marble floor was spotless with the appearance of having been polished recently, and a small side table with a framed photo of Sandra on top was the only object in the room that gave a hint of this being a home.
The lady delicately took my coat and hung it in a separate cloakroom. She led me into a room without windows, containing an immaculate, brown leather couch and a glass coffee table adorned with a selection of carefully positioned magazines, which were – judging by their covers – all business related.
“May I offer you something to drink?” she asked.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Mr DelaHaye will be with you in a minute,” she declared and retreated with an almost invisible bow. I walked a few steps and let my eyes wander through this odd, immaculate room and noticed a painting on the wall in van Gogh style. I got the impression that Roderick received clients or colleagues here in his home.
It wasn’t long before the other door in the room swung open.
“Jennifer,” I heard someone call out behind me as if he’d known me for years. I spun around and took a brief moment to observe him – Sandra had told me her husband was of a similar age to her, but he looked at least ten years older. The top two buttons of his blue-and-white striped shirt, which was wrinkled where I’d imagine it would have usually been perfectly laundered, were left undone, exposing a few wisps of chest hair. The dark circles under his eyes were probably the culprit for my misjudgement of his age.
I dithered about whether to shake his hand or if it would seem too formal, but before I was able to decide, he moved up to me with wide open arms and drew me into an embrace. A whiff of his eau de cologne assailed my nostrils, but was hardly able to mask the musty, unpleasant and overwhelming scent enveloping him. I held my breath until he finally let go, only to hold me tightly by the shoulders. There was something defiant in his voice when he spoke. “It is an absolute delight to meet you, Jennifer.”
I made my eyes sparkle with enthusiasm, trying to pull the wool over his eyes. “Roderick, how lovely to finally meet Sandra’s beloved husband.”
He nodded, a big grin on his face. “Sandra told me a lot about you,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. But this time I knew it was a lie.
I flashed him a smile.
He laid a hand on my back and gently ushered me towards the door. “Let’s head to the drawing room.”
We walked into the next room, which, in contrast to the one I’d been waiting in, was bright and airy with white walls flooded with light coming from the full length windows. The space was sleekly decorated in a mixture of white and black furniture with various glass side tables – clearly the work of an interior designer – and must have cost an arm and a leg. I surveyed the collection of modern art on the wall and pulled an expression to feign appreciation. “Those are some fine pieces of art.”
“That’s entirely Sandra’s merit. She managed to lay her hands on a lot of these works at a snip,” Roderick said and waved his hand in a grandiose gesture. “She took immense pleasure in scouting out young artists with a great talent and helping them move forward in their development – you know, making sure they’d be noticed. My wife always seemed to, one way or another, come up with a dilly of an idea to get their careers off the ground.” Roderick’s eyes were glowing as he spoke. “Well, I don’t have to tell you all that, of course you already know this.”
I nodded vehemently. “Sandra had many talents.”
I walked up towards the windows, which offered a magnificent view over the entire city, unequalled by anything I’d seen before, and in the distance I thought I recognised the Rembrandt Tower.
“What a fantastic panorama,” I said, while my gaze remained fixed outside. “Sandra never told me you have such a phenomenal place.”
“Ah, she was modest,” I heard Roderick say from behind me.
I swivelled and saw Roderick walk up to a pristine, glass table with a number of carafes on it. “Care for a glass?” he asked, indicating something that looked like vodka.
“Sounds good,” I lied, assuming an expression of rapt interest.
He poured the transparent liquid into a hand-crafted, heavy crystal glass and handed it to me.
We made a toast. “To Sandra,” I declared. I took a sip and tried to ignore the burning sensation in my throat.
“Good stuff,” I managed to utter as casually as possible, venturing a guess that this wasn’t a cheap bottle from a random off-licence store.
It worked like a charm. “You’re a woman with fine taste, I notice.” Roderick held his glass up in the air and looked at it with a sense of pride. “I had my assistant import it from Poland. Made with hand-picked bison grass, with a dash of almond and vanilla,” he crowed.
Demonstratively, I took another sip and nodded, suppressing a grimace.
“Why don’t we sit outside?” Roderick walked up to the windows and with just one click opened them along the entire width of the room, folding them like a harmonica.
Holding the crystal glass in my hand, I followed Roderick out onto the tiled roof terrace, the size of which was at least double that of my garden. The wind was howling like a wounded dog at this height and I pulled my jumper tightly around me with one hand. Aside from a lounge set in one corner, the terrace was sparsely decorated with only a few perfectly trimmed bonsai trees in ceramic pots. The whole space was enclosed by a glass fence about a metre high. Imagine one would lean too far over it, I thought, and shuddered.
“Shall we sit over there?” I asked and pointed towards the couch.
Roderick nodded and led the way.
I took a seat next to him and looked him in the eye. “So how have you been, Roderick?”
His gaze strayed as he ran a hand over his chin. “I’m all right.”
His eyes were so profoundly sad that I suddenly experienced this almost irresistible urge to hold him, comfort him and tell him I knew exactly how he felt. The emptiness during the day, the loneliness at night. The grief that hits you in the face early in the morning, when you wake up from a long and restless night. But I stifled my empathy – it was too early to acquit him. “You are a strong man. I can tell,” I said.
He jerked his head towards me. “How did you meet Sandra?”
His question caught me off guard and I felt nervous, in spite of the vodka. Fragments of the one-on-ones Sandra and I’d had flashed through my mind. “We got chatting in the gym and it turned out we had the same personal trainer,” I made up. “We really clicked and since then we saw each other several times a week.” I wondered where, for heaven’s sake, with my demanding work at the practice and Tim, that I would find the time for this indulgence and hoped he wouldn’t start asking questions.
He stared into the distance again. “Oh yes, that personal trainer,” he echoed in a heartbroken way that made me wonder if Sandra had ever had an affair with that man. She’d made it seem as if her husband cared little for her, but I began to question how much of it had actually been true.
I gave a sad smile. “I miss her terribly,” I said and was immediately ashamed of this lie. But I saw no other option – I had to find out if this guy, this grieving husband sitting next to me, knew anything.
Roderick shook his head. “The loss is unbearable. We were so close, Sandra and I, in spite of me working ridiculous hours. I know she had a problem with it and I couldn’t blame her.” His thoughts seemed to jump around all over the place, something I recognised from myself in the weeks after Oliver’s death. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so focused on my work and instead spent more time at home. We’d just planned a weekend getaway to Tuscany, to rekindle our love. She was really looking forward to that.”
I was puzzled. The last time I’d spoken to Sandra, she told me she intended to leave her husband – it had seemed like a fait accompli. On the other hand, she sometimes appeared to have a somewhat volatile and impulsive personality. I couldn’t rule out that she’d changed her mind after our conversation.
“She never complained, but suggested to spend more time with each other,” Roderick continued. “If only I’d listened to her more. Maybe she would still …” His words trailed off in the wind.
I laid my hand on his arm. It felt too intimate and rather unnatural, like a rehearsed gesture. “You mustn’t say that. Sandra was the victim of an accident. You played no part in that.”
I carried on sipping my glass in a demonstrative way, but made sure to swallow only modest amounts. I couldn’t afford a slip.
He looked me in the eye. “You’re right. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He shook his head again in despair. “And yet, if only I’d put a bit more effort in, listened to her requests for date nights every now and then, treated her more like my darling wife. Instead, I made the choice to be working like a Trojan all the time, which seems so incredibly futile now.” He looked at me. “Do you know I’m a partner at a large law firm called Mason & Mc Gant?”
I nodded. “I believe Sandra once told me.”
“I practically lived at the firm. What have I been doing there all this time?” Roderick whimpered. “I should have tried to find a better balance between work and home.”
I patted his arm amicably. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We would all make other choices in life with twenty-twenty hindsight.”
I swallowed before making my next move. This was the clincher. I thought for a moment about the precise formulation of words to use. “You’ve had tons of things on your mind. I understood from Sandra there’d been some challenging cases at Mason & McGant lately,” I said ever so carefully.
He looked at me mystified. “Challenging cases?”
“Well, of course I’m not familiar with all the ins and outs,” I said, waving my hand casually, but inside I felt my heart beating so violently I was afraid Roderick would hear it. “I believe I remember Sandra mention something about a file with a pseudonym. A minor problem that needed to be investigated internally, all rather hush-hush.” I was taking a huge risk by revealing this detail, but I knew I needed to give him a proper prod to find out if he knew something.
Roderick looked me directly in the eye. “I think you’re mistaken. I did share with Sandra how hectic things were at work lately – she may have just misunderstood me. You know what she was like.” His gaze softened and he gave me a wink. “Legal matters weren’t exactly her cup of tea. In any case, there are no secretive investigations or issues at Mason & McGant, fortunately.” He laughed. “I’m in no state to deal with any drama at the firm right now.”
I took a moment to let it sink in and smiled. “You’re right. It must have been a misunderstanding on my part.”
I relaxed my shoulders, stretched my legs and took a swig of my drink. Roderick clearly knew nothing about the Van Santen file or any criminal wrongdoing going on within Mason & McGant. The man here beside me on the couch was a grieving husband – everything in his demeanour evoked a sense of recognition and understanding in me. How could I have questioned that?
I decided to open up to him. “By the way, there’s something I didn’t share with you yet,” I said as lightly as possible.
He raised his eyebrows. “Something about Sandra?”
“Oh, no,” I hurried to say. “It’s about my husband. He was suddenly ripped from my life too – he died half a year ago as a result of a terrible fall. So I think I know exactly how you feel.”
He gently touched my shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.” I lowered my gaze. “It gets better with time, really,” I said, but to be fair I sometimes had doubts about that.
We chatted for a while until I glanced at my watch. “I’m afraid I need to leave.” I placed my glass, which was half full, on the table. I leaped up and spread my arms. “Roderick.”
He stood up and held me tightly, only this time I’d lowered my guard and felt the warmth of his embrace. The fact that we’d endured a similar tragedy forged a bond between us.
He released me and said with heartfelt compassion, “You’re a kind woman, Jennifer.”
I nodded. “It was wonderful to meet you, Roderick.” I swung my handbag over my shoulder. “I’ll see myself out.”
With firm steps I walked over the windy terrace, into the reception room towards the corridor where the housekeeper was awaiting me with my coat, which seemed to have been brushed clean.
“That’s very kind of you to brush my coat,” I said, sliding my arms through the sleeves.
The woman looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret. “Mr DelaHaye requested it.”
I froze and peered quizzically at her. This was odd.
The woman remained silent and folded her hands in front of her.
With an indefinable feeling I said goodbye, opened the door and left the penthouse.