The Hike(68)

She was glad she’d managed to transfer the money in the morning, using her and Tristan’s phones. Otherwise she’d have to go back to the car now, and she wasn’t sure she could risk any more delays. She was already much later than she’d planned to be.

She lifted her bag, hooking the straps over her shoulders. The multi-functional travel bag had turned out to be a godsend – multiple compartments, expandable, wheels and straps. It could literally carry anything and go anywhere. And it had a rain cover, too, which changed its colour from red to blue. There was nothing she was wearing or carrying now that anyone from this hotel, or the police station, had seen.

Not that they’d notice. The distracted reception staff wouldn’t bat an eyelid if she walked out past them now. But she wasn’t taking any chances.

She closed the door of her room quietly and headed in the opposite direction to the one she’d come from; away from reception, away from the restaurant. She’d chosen this hotel carefully, requesting a room on this floor specifically. She pushed open the door at the end of the corridor, and of course no alarm went off. They always said that fire doors were alarmed, but she’d stayed in many hotels in many places, and she’d never been caught out yet. Of course, there was always the chance that one door, somewhere, might actually be alarmed – but even if it was, she wouldn’t be hanging around for a reaction from the staff.

She hurried down the metal stairs of the fire escape, out to the side of the hotel. Away from the main street, and the police station. She walked quickly, wincing slightly, as a stabbing pain in her ankle started up. Bump on her head aside, she thought she’d got away with that tumble down the mountain, but perhaps she had broken a little bone. Or maybe it was just a sprain. She’d experienced pain like this before. She could walk through it.

She had to.

She walked quickly, knowing that her twenty minutes must be nearly up. Hoping she still had enough time. She glanced back at the police station, thinking about Paul. She shuddered. The thought of his hands on her, after what he’d done to Samantha. Just the thought of him sleeping in the same bed was enough to cause a wave of nausea. She’d had to draw on all the strength she’d ever had to deal with him, and Ginny’s betrayal. The last few weeks had been hell.

She stood at the bus stop, keeping herself back from the road. She glanced down to the hotel a couple of times, expecting to see Lydia bursting out. Hopefully she was taking her time with her coffee, letting poor Cat shower and pack and come to terms with her horrible, evil husband.

Lydia really needed to work on her people-reading skills.

After a moment, a truck pulled up. She knew it wouldn’t take long. Of course there wasn’t going to be a bus at this time of day on a Sunday, but thankfully in these Alpine villages there was always someone happy to help a stranded traveller.

She jumped into the cab of the truck, shoved her suitcase under her feet. The driver talked to her in rapid French and she replied, asking him to slow it down a bit so that she could understand, then she told him to drop her as close to the train station as possible. He nodded, then turned the radio up. The latest Euro-pop hit was blasting through the speakers as he pulled away from the kerb. She kept her eyes straight ahead as they passed the hotel, and then the police station, and fought the urge to look back.





Fifty-Three

He stood under the departures board, checking the train times again. He’d arrived hours ago, showered and changed using the station facilities. He’d eaten a sandwich, drunk two coffees.

Waited.

He was bored now.

The game had been fun for a while, but now he just wanted it to be over. He looked at his watch. Stared up at the train times again. Frowned.

Had he got it wrong?

The Tannoy announced the next departures. Then told everyone to mind their luggage. He only had a small bag. He would buy everything he needed when he got there.

After it was all over.

He walked across the station concourse towards the entrance, watching the smattering of people coming in and out. The station was quiet this evening. It was Sunday. People here were lazy on a Sunday.

He looked at a small monitor showing the times. Glanced back at his watch.

Then back to the door.

And then he smiled so wide that he thought he might split the corners of his lips.

She was here.





Fifty-Four

SUNDAY NIGHT

Cat slid across the double-seat, positioning herself next to the window. She was looking forward to the train journey. Geneva to Zurich was around two and half hours, and then not long to wait for the connecting Nightjet train that would take her deeper into Europe. That was going to be the most fun part – she’d always loved a sleeper train. Not that she had any intention of sleeping tonight. She’d gone past tiredness into a wired state that would keep her buzzing along for as long as was needed, and then, no doubt, she would crash.

The man opposite bundled his jacket into a ball, laying it on the seat beside him. The reflective strip on the sleeve caught a flash of light from the overhead strip-lights, sending a sparkling silvery streak across the table for a moment, then he folded it again and the light was gone.

Cat shook her head. ‘A bright-red jacket? With a reflective strip? Did you want to be seen in those trees? What were you thinking?’

He shrugged. ‘It was the only jacket I could get hold of. I grabbed it from that shop next to the police station in Villars – it’s for layering, apparently. I hadn’t really planned to wear it, but it was much cooler in those woods than out on the path—’